


To Paint A Picture

by Rumdust, sunsroom



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha Keith (Voltron), Alpha Shiro (Voltron), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Artist Keith (Voltron), Cuban Lance (Voltron), Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hate to Love, Insecure Lance (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Nobility, Omega Lance (Voltron), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, servant Lance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-06-19 18:29:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15515940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumdust/pseuds/Rumdust, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsroom/pseuds/sunsroom
Summary: Lance McClain is nothing more than a city boy striving for the life he knew was worth living. Lost with himself and unsure of his place in the world, Lance searches for a life in the town of Durnsley, in hopes of hiding his biggest fear of them all. He’s an Omega.But, in the tiresome grasps of his petulant Master and a mysterious Lord who’s relationship lays yet undefined, Lance is brought into the dark secrets of Durnsley house. And, of course, the love that lies behind it. Something that he didn’t quite- bargain for.





	1. The Arrival At Durnsley House

**Author's Note:**

> Whoop! This is my first ever fic to be posted so please leave compliments and criticisms down in the comments below ill make sure to reply to all of them when I can! Thanks so much to @sunsroom for helping me out and being a great editor! Please don't forget to give a kudos and share with others!
> 
> Hope you enjoy! x

Mr. McLain held the newspaper in his graceful fingers with a grip like death, withstanding the tyranny of the wind pooling in from the window that had recently snapped open, in the comfort of his secluded train carriage. The mahogany served well as an eye-pleaser to the interior of the compartment yet, on a cold day like this, proved no purpose for insulation. Even the train itself began to shudder on the icy tracks and hiss its white dragons breath into the chilling air. Lance shuffled awkwardly to hold the hems of his unbuttoned coat shut.

It was a sight many grew to get used to at this time of year, just before spring, the last snow beating down its final landing blow. Though, when the steam engine slowed at a station long enough for wandering eyes to drift, upon examination impossibly purple crocuses could be found sprouting in the cracks of man made structures and defining the beauty of the place. It was an anomalous sight compared to the bustling cityscapes. 

Lance hauled his flailing window shut, straining slightly against the thick, but manageable, wind current that strived to trap his fingers in rebellion. It was three hours since his departure and not long before his arrival to the small town west of the city, somewhere in the countryside that acquainted itself well with the forest surroundings. It was the perfect place to learn how to forget yourself. 

Once the wood framed glass was secured by its lock he finally trusted the room enough to uncrumple the graying sheet and press its corners in hope of returning it to its original form. Thank god he hadn’t lost it, just the thought of losing the only aid of guidance in his journey made his copper skin turn pale.

He awoke this morning to a calm delight rather than the false pretences of an overcast night sky, where the clouds in such a hurry became tandem with the movement of the express. Though the wind, of course, did not change in the slightest, the brightness of the early hours seemed to shimmer a gleam of hope of a day with reasonable weather. 

The article that led disheveled in an unorganised, if not slightly composed, mess of itself, bestowed the image of a grand and stately manor that was under the required need of tending to. Mostly the gardens, shrubbery and animals all in which Lance found his expertise. Under the conditions of a hefty salary and provided accommodation of course. He was to become, in hope, the new groundskeeper of the beautiful house that caught his eye like moth’s to candle light. 

The train slowed at Durnsley station, the place of his departure from the little warmth he managed to preserve and out into the world he wasn’t entirely sure was happy to greet him back. 

Stepping of the train, out of the security of his soft carpet seat, he began to fully delve back into his thoughts while he sought out the directory in hopes to help him map out the small town of Durnsley, spotting the shape of a suspect, a wooden box opened up by window with a burly train attendant writing inside. His briefcase a little lighter than he would have liked to admit.

For the entirety of the journey Lance refused to look over his shoulder, in a metaphorical sense of course. This was his last attempt to escape the unforgiving bore of city life that he had grown accustomed to, to the point where ‘city-boy’ was just the right word deemed appropriate when used to describe him. 

He grew up in a world that hated everything about him. Tore him from his rights, dreams, hopes and up until this very moment which even now could end up as a futile attempt of retribution. It was the eighteen hundreds , and there was never a place less suited for Lance than this day and age.

He was sophisticated yet, despite his undying charisma and more than adequate looks, discriminated for his colour, his Cuban heritage playing a part in this odd subconscious dislike in what thankfully only few decided to hold against him in the ghettos where he used to live. Being so young, the healthy age of twenty-one meant he was able to drink liquor, but due to an inevitable circumstance, he still looked a little younger than he really was. He liked to think he was a gentleman no less.

It was the thing he really wanted to leave behind, this inescapable biological curse that he is forced to carry, that drove him to the gentle recluse of the countryside. He was born, denied his life and cast away by society for being something he could never control.

He was an omegan. 

Doused in scent dampener, dosed with his latest suppressant shot, until he was left no more than a beta to the naked eye. But still- an omega. And he was left dreading the day he would have to finally be honest with himself. In twenty one years of living Lance had never had a heat, he was unmarked and undoubtedly a virgin; despite his skill for coquetry that held him highly with beta females. 

But maybe today he may actually be able to find a job to his tastes and never have to face the side of him that made him so unlovable… because he was wasn’t he, unlovable. Unless he submitted to the side of himself he kept locked behind walls of routine and medicine. It had been so long since he considered it; the thought felt a little out of order.

“Excuse me, Sir? I don’t suppose you know how I could get to Durnsley estate?” Lance spoke into the small holes of a glass pane, to a man sat half asleep and surprisingly uninterrupted by the bustle and noise.

“Hm? Oh! ‘Ello chap! Sorry, don’t get a lot a new folks ‘round here where was’it ya wanted to go?” He sniffed wiping his philtrum with his index finger, his red nose big like a Santa doll and mustache thick like a nut cracker. 

Lance leaned closer speaking up over the shrill whistle of a parting train “Durnsley estate!?” 

“Ah yes! Jus’ out of the exit of the platform you’ll be able to catch a taxi to the Arusian square, there’s a carriage service ya can catch that’ll take ya past the manor” he slipped a small tea coloured map from the generous gap below the safeguard.

Lance gave him his biggest smile. 

*

The transport wasn’t fancy but it was perfect for a little town like this. It wasn’t the familiar damp, often concerning, presence that he’d grow accustomed to in the big city. Not to say is was any less exciting by any means, but it was significantly better than his former residences excuse for any form of transport.

A company landau rolled around the corner about five minutes before it was due, sparing Lance a few seconds relief off his unyielding anticipation. 

By the looks of the Arusian square he was definitely stepping into a place he didn't belong- much less he never knew he would ever have the privilege to see. Even from the quiet of the little sheltered seating arrangement, he could see the glints of gold from the jewelry store and the sparkling flash of overpriced alcohol. At least they had a store for spirits, after today he doubted he could pry himself away from the hard liquor. That’s if he could afford it. 

Without a single creak of a rusty joint, the doors to the compartment swung open with a gentle gust, the vehicle shifting gently from the clops of its impatient drivers 

“One fare to Durnsley estate please” Lance fumbled for his wallet, jamming his hands into his coat then his trousers searching aimlessly. He cursed under his breath, sparks of dread spiking his skin like needles with every empty pocket and crevice.

A small pale fist holding a small sum of coins wafted into his line of sight “Make that two.” they spoke with a cheerful tone that he knew was conceived with a smile. Whoever decided to enlighten him in this moment he owed a great deal to.

He spun on his heel only to greet this mysterious stranger who, to his surprise, was a foot shorter than he expected. The expensive, yet undoubtedly impressive, teal pattern of their dress skirt was enough to make a clear impression of them- power can come in small packages. Most importantly, Lance could smell the distant scent of alpha that was emitted under her presence, sparking all types of unease and unsettling premonition within him. And of course, to his dismay, they shared the same destination.

“Why, am I wrong to think that you almost called me sir?” A small, young girl satirized, passing him his ticket with a wicked grin. “I am unsure if one should be offended or deeply amused by such a situation”

“My apologies, I just- well I assumed wrong” Lance apologised, taking his hand to rest it on his chest in hope of deepening his sincerity. 

“What? As if a lady couldn’t pay for a gentlemen's fair?” She scoffed playfully, pushing the rim of her round spectacles.”Typical, men are often such simple creatures”

Lance couldn’t even bring himself to be offended. He smiled. In fact, he was, like his strange new acquaintance, very amused. Her nature sparked an instant sense of awe, her iron-will was impeccable and clean like her wit. Not many women had been blessed with such a talent. Then she swept by into the compartment as if it were merely nothing at all.

“Your words are very wise for someone so young, I would be delighted to know such a wonderful lady’s name” Lance opted to place himself into the seat opposite her, much less out of fear of proximity, slipping his located wallet from his breast pocket and plucking out his fare, handing it to her in a friendly gesture.

“Lady Katie Holt-” she eyed him with suspicion. “Though you may call me Katie, I am not one for formalities, especially under the roof of Durnsley house”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, but I am afraid due to the nature of my position it will be most improper to call you under any name than the one of your natural title” Lance smiled when she waved his hand a way, appreciating the opportunity for a subtle gift from somebody of such high esteem. 

“Oh dear I see, you must have the rather unfortunate luck of being the new groundskeeper, correct me if I am wrong?” Lance wasn’t quite sure as to how she knew that but he was very pleased to know that he was expected.

“Indeed Lady Holt” Lance’s words jumped when the hackney jolted into motion, the sound of cobblestone and metal horseshoes clicking in rhythmic chime from the outside as they reared out of the quiet Arusian square and into a smaller country lane. “Am I wrong to appeal to the nature of your words?” Lance added with his usual charismatic flair “I believe you stated I was ‘rather unfortunate’ in the place of luck?”

“Very much so Mr-“ 

“Mr.McClain, your Ladyship” speaking proudly with a wide toothed grin, Lance was more than a little pleased with himself as the first of his line to meet someone of such nobility.

“Mr.McClain, I’m afraid the lord of the house is quite the handful and is especially fastidious of the design of the house, finical of the ornate, and in other words very hard to please” she spoke with a passion that made Lance feel extremely under the weather. His stomach could only hold out on so much with the now heaping pressure of pleasing the lords and ladies of the house in which he had rare experience in, if not at all. 

It wasn’t a particularly warm day, yet he could feel the precipitation of sweat forming on his brow. Out of habit, which he had harboured and kindled from the age of fourteen without any sign of breaking it, he pulled a handkerchief from his flap pocket and dabbed from temple to temple. The smell of scent killer was a little more conspicuous than he would of liked but desperate times were a cause for desperate measure. He was often afraid he might smell of an odour a little less akin to his ‘natural’ scent. 

His company within the compartment seemed to stiffen a little giving him a gentle smile before retiring to her previous gaze out of the carriage window, a pitiful look in her eye as if somewhere behind the resolve of a young lady, she was deeply concerned for his well being. It played between the small crease of her brow and she opened her lips to speak a warning, instead nodding to him with a determined face.

For the first time in his life, he had never witnessed an alpha who was so concerned over his faults. It was almost as if she believed in him. And it only led his to dread as to why he should be offered such concern. 

It was too late to turn back when they finally approached the end of the tunnel of overlapping woodland. The horses dragged onto a path in the clearing in which the house could be seen not too far- but a comfortable distance, enough to see it and appreciate its appeal in order to elicit the admiration and respect it truly deserved. 

It was magnificent. 

Durnsley house was mammoth in size and thrice exceeded Lances expectations. It was as if it were built to mock those, like himself, who considered such limiting accusations for such a stately accommodation. It boasted a rare image of Romanesque revival, a style secluded only to the highest of nobility and bared with the wealth of a lordship of great succession. There was a sense of the gothic atmosphere within the place which could not be found, but instead- felt. Lance wasn’t entirely confident in the fact it was all pleasant, rather unfamiliar and oddly uncanny.

Lance was unequivocally enthralled by the asymmetrical appeal that was held within its structure. Miniature turrets almost castle-like; yet holding such greatness, seeming no less intimidating as exact in its appearance, being supported by a seamless stone trim. It was simply breathtaking. Grand in height; at least two floors standing, wide and braggart, never failing to stand out amongst the vast gardens, even from the comfort of afar and despite its blander anemic beige colouring. 

Expensive glass glinted in the warming sun, thawing the last traces of the winter months and emitting a illusionary glow from the multi-faceted estate. There was nothing about the place that Lance could deem as anything less than elegant, but there’s was a peculiar sensation of unrest embedded deep into his stomach, as if his body were telling him he shouldn’t be here at all. Already prepared for flight and practically sailing back to the comfort of his previous residence far from the terrors held behind the beauty of Durnsley. 

The approach was steadier as the horses slowed, soft whinnies of recognition filling the silence. Lance shifting his weight in order to release the strain on his craned neck to gaze at towering home of the established lord. 

“Pretty isn’t it?” Lady Holt smiled as she received the rather flustered look from her neighbouring company. Caught off guard, Lance let a rather undignified cough escape his lips, covering it with a loose fist.

“Indeed so my Lady, I’m afraid I’ve never seen a house of such an appearance, my apologies. I-“ Lance pulled the white cloth of his handkerchief to rest in his palms’ I appear to be feeling strange, I do not wish to make you uncomfortable” Lance arranged the silk of his collar a little higher in an attempt to remove the sudden constriction from his throat. 

“Nonsense!, you are doing nothing of the sort Mr.McClain” she attended to the wrinkles of her attire, flattening them down as the carriage slowed itself to a halt. “You look nothing but presentable, I assure you” 

“You humour me your Ladyship” Lance offered a polite smile. 

As expected from a house of such delicate tradition and mannerism, few of the staff were stationed readily at the entrance to commence their duties; that of course was required simply to establish a well conceived host.

Lance couldn’t deny the surges of envy towards those of plenty prosperity and title.It was something men often died for in order to achieve status, class or even a certain reputation. To be put simply, it was everything he could dream of and more, except that pedestal of power was particularly higher than his own measly slab of misfortune- or rather lack of entitlement.

The carriage door swung open and Lance wasn’t ready in the slightest. 

“Lady Holt-“ the large set man, dressed in the attire to greet, nodded curtly to her, taking her hand and assisting her out of the carriage. “Ah! You must be Mr.McClain, if you would please follow our stable boy Rolo through the courtyard, the Master requests you upon arrival.” 

“It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance Mr.McClain, I hope to see you further throughout my stay, you’re quite an interesting one” she spoke gracefully over her shoulder, and though much younger than himself, seemed wiser than an owl and equally as perceptive.

“Mr.McClain, I’m glad to finally meet you” Rolo swept his luggage from under his aching palm and offered his spare hand for a firm shake. “Name’s Rolo”

“Lance” he complied to the action with a kind regard, as he felt the rough resistance of poorly applied bandage lacing the palm of his newest encounter. He’d offer to fix it later. Of course as an omegan he was trained enough in domestic medical care to patch up a few saddle whip cuts and stable bruises. Thankfully, by Rolo’s reassuring blandness, he was a beta male.

“I’ll show you to your room shall I?” the question was rhetorical, but from his tone it felt like he was wondering if he would wish to leave “Been a while since we’ve had new staff here at the house” 

“And why is that?” Lance tilted his head as they made entrance through the kitchen rather than the grand entranceway which he had only witnessed, yet to discover. A few maids were busing themselves in with various household duties obligations, bread-making and fattening chickens with their afternoon feed.

“Why are you asking?” He countered with a boyish smile, waving to a group of house staff similar to his age, sending them into a fit of whispers and giggles like a gaggle of geese. Life actually seemed substantially pleasant here. Something that made Lance want to shy away from, to step off that rug before it was pulled from under his feet. Life had a frequent habit of doing that.

“To be honest, and believe me I have no idea where I am getting this strange impression, but everyone seems to speak of the Lord and this house in such a peculiar way”

His collegue reassured him with a warm laugh, placing his briefcase like a doorstop against the frame, gesturing for him to enter the room and respecting his private quarters by waiting outside  
“Nonsense. Now, if you want to unpack I’d say to wait until after your meeting with the Lord, fortunately tardiness is one of the few things he may tolerate, all you have to be is presentable.” 

“Thank you Mr.- sorry, I didn't catch your last name”

“Oh please, Rolo is fine” he corrected as Lance surveyed the homely bedroom- much cosier and well kept than his previous abode. 

“Stable boy! The master requests a horse to be saddled for his evening ride” a middle aged woman covered in a large quantity of flour, called him from the hall, hurrying down with her skirt in hand “For goodness sake boy! I’ll take the young man to the parlour now hurry!” that left Lance in a state of panic as if time was wrenched out of his hands and replaced by the urge to hasten.

With that Lance was swept from the room like dust, unable to prepare himself for what was to come.

\~*~/


	2. 'The Incident In The Sitting Room'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew okay! so Chapter two done! To be entirely honest I don't feel like this went as well as it could of but hopefully with enough practice i will be able to execute these chapters better in future! ill make it up to ya'll in the next chapter! Please feel very welcome to leave comments, I will try my best to reply to every single one and don't forget to leave kudos! 
> 
> enjoy chapter two!  
> -Miss Writer

From the short walk across the landing, Lance could deduce a fair amount of detail about the particularly fastidious tastes of the Lord. Intricacy seemed to be held at high value, every frame and ornament accented with golden brass coating- the type that would find even the dimmest of candlelight to catch shine, the floor a sea of deep vermilion carpet of a rare Persian design and when not, a rich wooden plank. The journey alone represented the palatial vastness of the home as they had only reached the stairs when he began to discern the dull ache of his heels. It was that, or the beauty that had stolen his breath.

The walls were plastered with various patterns each changing from hall to hall, bestowing their own shades of regality, pictures of fashionable art exuding the sense of originality, wealth and flair. Chandeliers hung from the high ceiling of the stairway entrance and while the ascent itself clung to the left of the antechamber, the rest was employed to present social standing and affluence, all of which could be seen spectacularly from the upper level over easing.

By the time they had made it to what his escort regarded as ‘the Masters Parlor’, Lance was completely beyond himself, not entirely sure how to comprehend all the unhappy truths which attended his arrival and what may befall thereafter. Out of habit, he began to hurriedly compose himself in front of the solid doors that his senses deemed were impenetrable, no sound, sight or scent revealing the inside and what mystery the left Mr. McClain so bothered. Unknowing of what lies within, he patted down the chill on his brow with the comforting silk of his handkerchief and collecting anything that would threaten to reveal him upon such an important meeting, including the multitude of his doubts. 

“Thank you Mr. McClain, for your patience.” The large woman sighed, placing each hand on her hips and surveying him in all his overwrought glory. “Honestly! some of the houseboys can be quite the handful! I was shocked to see Rolo had managed to at least carry in your luggage without dropping it along the way!” Her words were spoken with a hearty laugh, in a volume not entirely appropriate for the room but delineate to her pleasant character 

“The pleasure is all mine Madam.” Lance replied politely, contributing a bright smile while she’s adjust the ruffles at his neck, faffing over him as if he were a young child.

“Call me Mrs. Bennett darling.” She smiled with such motherly love he was, for a moment, reminded of his own dear mother who was so many miles away. Mrs.Bennett tapped his cheek with her palm emitting a giddy chuckle “My! Aren't you a handsome one? I bet all the ladies will be after you!” Lance let his unease slip to the surface with the modest purse of his lips.

With that she bid him goodbye, hurrying off down the path in which they came calling for one of her girls along the way, commanding them to ‘hurry along now’ while she did so herself.

She wasn't entirely wrong, but many who did pursue to court him, tended to recoil their admiration upon understanding his status as an omega. By now he was used to the rejection of a mundane romance, and now dedicated himself to refusing his ‘duties’ of an omegan and abandoning the idea of such an unlovable lifestyle with an alpha, wedlocked and stuck in unholy matrimony with a man who wouldn't bother to even request his name before sending him to bare his children while he played bear with his bounty of concubines. He was reluctant to countenance the unequitable state of his societal expectations. 

In that regard, Lance believed himself not to be an omegan, but a man. He will refuse to be anything less knowing he is nothing more.

The sun was beginning to crawl down from its peak, prepared to nestle back into the horizon, awaiting the thick blanket of night cascade over the hills and descend upon the house he was sure would glow brighter at the break of darkness. Lance was determined to find peace at this home beginning to wonder what kind of man the Lord could be. A middle aged beta man, perhaps at the respectable age forty-five. He imagined him to be tall and lithe, rustic but have an air of wisdom and stability that he could find comfort within his presence. 

Lance, swallowing his shaky nature and personifying the power and passion in which he wished he rightfully owned, breathed a heavy breath, rapping three sharp stilted knocks on the door and waited. He retreated a few steps back, straightening his omegan curve of his back and lifting his chin a little higher, shuning the uncomfortable sensation it brought as the skin of his neck was far more exposed, the scent gland revealed where it lays, under his flesh. Now wasn't the place to dwell on the possibility of such undesired detriment. 

It was a man far too subtle to be the Lord himself who opened the parlor door and observed him with the eye of an artisan. 

“Ah, you must be Mr. McClain.” His face remained stiff yet his words were spoken with ease as he turned to the room to introduce his forthcoming . “Lady Holt-” He nodded to his left presumably where she sat to enjoy her evening leisure, he was relieved to know something familiar he could rely on, though they had only met on the short ride from the town of Durnsley. “My Lords” he regarded his right with a professional manner “Mr. McClain, as you requested.“

From the silence that was followed, Lance found his way into the sitting room finding he turned to familiarity first, relaxed by the sight of someone he felt at least tolerated his company. The first thing he noticed upon setting eyes on the respected Lady Holt was that the refined scent of her admirable status seemed to have disappeared amongst the others as Lance, with an odd paling of his skin, realised she was one of three alpha’s who had settled in this room. The second was that she watched him tentatively from behind the back of a large novel, an almost mischievous smile peeking from below, nearly obscured view.

“Thank you Radford, you are dismissed.” The words an empty command, but the voice that delivered such sounds, dripping with an effortless satire, resonated within Lance as his omegan side began to shiver under his skin, concealed only by his rough shield of stubbornness that kept himself together.

The light of the room, brought by the reddish yellow sun of the eve, was delightful to the atmosphere, pooling from the large expanse of the parlor window, symmetrical to the room and gridded with pattern of iron wrought that traced a shade into the shine. It was a look that lent itself nicely to the aesthetics of the room; an epitome of a lavish life.

Lance, the flurry of nerves rich in his heart, breathed a shallow exhale once again, lacing the flat of his palms away from the small of his back and presenting himself with every inch of dignity he sought valuable. He was indeed a man after all. 

“Nothing less, not anything more.” He muttered to himself.

Surveying was a skill Lance had taken within himself as a necessity in his life. From what he could muster, the art of perception seemed handy in his more pitiful circumstances, as if looking life from the wicker of a strongbow was the only sensation that brought him ease. A thing he was certain an alpha, such as themselves, could never understand nor execute with such profession as he. 

He bowed before he brought himself to peak at the both welcoming and illusive countenances of his current Lords, one of which was the rightful heir of Durnsley and the other mysteriously unexpected.

“Your Lordship” Lance, with a great deal of hardship, forced himself into the eyes of his superior and first met the coolness of a shy gray. They were met by a man he had read in the papers of various town gossips, Dr. Takashi Shirogane, not only a famous lecturer of refined talent in Latin astrology and medicine, but the Marquees of Staffordshire, not far west of this dwelling. He was known as a long childhood friend of this house and it’s owner, but notorious for his unbearable charms that women swooning and pining for his single heart.

Lord Shirogane was a handsome man who looked the healthy age of twenty-seven, in splendid shape and a smile that rested well upon the surface of his expressions. Charming, was most definitely the first word that was brought to Lances mind, followed by a cascade of others noting the finest of his features and, equal in remarkability, his flaws. A particularly peculiar scar tainted his ivory skin with the soft hue of pink rose, a small tincture of reality.

He was dressed in fine fabrics, all the same shade of white and black, as if to match the shock of white forelock amongst his hair, premature ageing that gave lack of melanin a new aura of vivacity. His poise was exuded from his gentle demeanour, broad shoulders bearing the weight of a well conceived Lord, complimenting his impressive physique no alpha, beta or omega could help but relish in. 

“Mr. McClain how pleasant to finally meet you, I apologise on behalf of Lord Kogane for his disregard for such a professional as yourself.” he spoke half toward a raven-haired surly man who was sat behind his desk, reading glasses rested against the bridge of his nose, sorting through various paperworks. “A room much more situated for your needs is under preparation, perhaps the groundskeepers cottage? You indeed are an artist and must be treated as our guest. please, take a seat.”.

Lance wasn’t sure what to make of it all.

Lord Kogane was of an entirely different manner. When their eyes met across the far expanse of the room, he felt he was sure, despite only just meeting, that he was clearly thought a nuisance. 

No sooner than he had made it clear to himself that he could never be moved by such an standoffish man, than he began to find he was rendered strangely enraptured by the beautiful sharpness of expression of his burning violet eyes. He felt the beat of his heart painfully quicken under such intense contact of the eyes.

All at once, his Lordship removed himself from where he sat, grabbing the neck of his coat and storming out the room with vigor, no head for an explanation nor dispense . 

Lance, staring down at his hands almost embarrassed by his untimely rejection, felt at a loss. The vehemence of his discourtesy, that not only shocked Lance- but the guests in his very home, was entirely too petulant to be considered possible at his standing. Such an impetuous and imprudent disgreeting could only rouse the deepest of bitterness upon Mr. McClains own impression of him. In fact, he found him quite unlikeable. 

Lord Kogane was rather unfortunately different and in many ways than one, considerably rude. 

 

*

 

Through the time he spent in the parlor Lance was made aware of his duties amongst the house. He had been directed to the head of staff, a short plump man who took the name of Mr. Zeller yet preferred in his casual manner, Peter. He quickly grew to learn the basics of working within the Durnsley household, though at this current time his work issued no labour. Instead, he found himself to be sat behind the small desk of his temporary residence, listening to the dying bustle of the kitchen before the staff turned in for bed. Upon the surface, rested a sizable amount of books, each a comprehensive treatise on the history of the Durnsley grounds and the complete oeuvre on groundskeeping. 

Pinned to the wall, a hand drawn image of the gardens almost forty years prior, not completely resembling the bland view he could see beyond the panes of his window. The condition wasn't far from redemption, the grass was green and life roamed amongst the land, but it required a great deal of work in which would require hands on application and a few orders from the capital. Lance recalled to an earlier conversation to which Mr. Zeller addressed the reason for the appalling state of such a remarkable houses gardens.

~~~

“When did such a beautiful ground turn to such- disarray,” Lance, equally as baffled in tone, rested his hands against the windowsill and observed the gardens with critical care. Many of the plants had died out from the harsh winter month but few were left sole survivors, salvageable amongst the battlegrounds of nature, and could be given life simply from a little bit of tender love and care.

“Around twenty years ago, when the former Lord of Durnsley passed away I'm afraid.” Peter said, a sad note laced with his predominantly cheery spirit.

Lance watched over his side as Peter began to arrange the room in which they were situated, re-organising various ornaments or papers out of place with a crestfallen purse of his lips. “Did you know him well?”

“Indeed I did, I was about your age when I first met the late Lord Kogane. He was truly a man of admirable presence. He strived high in life for a man born into such little fortune, and of course it is universally acknowledged that a single alpha in possession of a short lasting fortune, must be in want of a wealthy wife. He married Lady Krolia, a distant cousin to the Duke of Shrewsbury, Lord Zarkon Drule and his wife Lady Honerva. Despite her- darker heritage, he loved her very much, she was a beautiful omegan indeed and had more burning passion than any alpha. My! She had the wit to prove it.” He reminisced laughing to himself one moment, turning disquiet and sombre the next.

“What happened?” Lance breathed, feeling he should leave the conversation at rest, persisted otherwise, curious to the past of this house and, possibly, the reason for Lord Kogane’s cold withdraw. Although, he didn't believe a man like him needed an excuse to be so arrogant as he was.

Mr. Zeller sighed, unfolding a delicate lace tablecloth, “Quite the stubborn one aren't you?” after a short silence in which Lance refused to make change of the subject, he relented to his request. “There...was an accident, the Lord Kogane was just a young boy at the time, around eight years of age, poor thing. Such a ghastly night...”

Lance, in a sudden sense of frustration, turned to the man who was speaking entirely too slow and opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by the sudden burst of the door and the flurry of giggles that came in its wake.

A young, fair skinned girl stumbled in with another similar in complexion, both a rare beauty in their own way and bright in their blonde locks, the epitome of modish desires.  
“Oh dear. I’m terribly sorry,” She immediately began ushering the other out of the room as she tried to hush her loud questions as to why they were leaving, and once provided with an answer, who was in the room.

“Romelle, Nyma, Ladies please get a hold of yourselves!” A strict call came from down the hall, followed by an aged lady with fine graying hair, who tailed their youthful running in hot pursuit, shaking furiously, red faced from exertion and clutching her bodice, the girls whispering loud commands to hide one another in some of the many chambers for accomodation inside the sweeping structure of the Kogane residence. 

Both he and Peter Zeller exchanged soft chuckles, the strange lightening of the mood changing the atmosphere to something Lance felt was impolite to break. 

~~~

When the house had finally settled at the appropriate time of ten o’clock, Lance decided it was finally time for him to turn in for the night. He was troubled by both his prying thoughts and the intrusive chill of the room, only one of which could be easily solved. Lance found himself unable to resist the urge of recounting the memories of the day, specifically that of which occupied the infamous Marquees of Staffordshire, and his antisocial companion, the Lord Kogane.

Though he was quite the unbearable character, Lord Kogane was quite appealing in the face. If that’s what one could call it. Instinct was one of the few downfalls of Mr. McClain, an omega was never made to resist alphas of such potential. Turning back for a single second into the thoughts of his mind allowed the maelstrom of emotions, in such a flurry he began to feel the unorthodox twist in the pit of his stomach. Lance cursed to himself standing to his feet, aiming to busy himself with a simple distraction, attempting slumber, never quite sure if it was truly the sharp tongued bite of the cold air that sent chills down his spine. 

 

*

 

Morning at the Durnsley household was early rising, the kitchen already awake and lively, before he could shake the sleep from his own body. Lance felt as if he was possessed with the needs to aid the serving of breakfast, troubling thoughts left behind in the hard-pressed effort to make use of himself amongst the others, who were unable to situate his standing amongst them. Afterall, he was still yet to understand his position against his knew found coequals- or what he currently regarded them as. Few accepted his help, to his own frustration, many believed it wasn't his place in the kitchen and rather to the whole entirety of the place. 

He planned to find a way back into the company of the nobility to make sure he acquired the appropriate professional association. 

“Mr. Zeller?” Lance, catching the arm of his new acquaintance before Peter, who looked awfully red-faced and exhausted, could carry himself away with his silver tray in hand, took the tray from his unwilling grasp and smiled “Please, allow me.” 

“Oh, heavens I shouldn't!” Mr. Zeller puffed, too exhausted to argue nor take the metal from Lance’s hands, failing miserably to hide his sighs of relief.

“Nonsense! I've been looking for something to do for quite the while sir, I would be more than pleased to serve the tea in your place.” Lance reserved the directions in his mind from the exasperated footman, pursuing his duty.

Stepping foot into the back parlour, Lance greeted Lady Holt and the Marquee of Staffordshire who alone sat here to dine, not yet joined by their illusive host. Lance felt the relaxation that trickled through his nerves in the attendance of the two alphas who were nothing but polite at such early hours. 

Setting the table, Lance found the time to admire the fine chinaware, while he remained far from the conversations of his superiors. Each teacup looked to share the same blue willow pattern, stark against that glazed white porcelain of the dainty cup, that he held softly against the tips of his fingers wondering how it felt to take the gold lip of the ceramic to his own and find the sweet taste of earl grey. He place each of the three on a single saucer of matching design, the soft clink mixing with the saccharine smell of fine importation from India.

“Say, do you enjoy tea Lance?” Lord Shirogane, catching Lance’s eye, shocking him from his pour and rendering him speechless upon the account of his own name, watched with a pleased smile as the sun-skinned boy fumbled with the frangible material and placed it front of him.

“Yes, My Lord,” Lance replied shortly, the sharp prickling of adrenaline dying away in his veins. “My father works on the ships, when I was a young boy he would bring me samples of tea from his longer excursions.” Lance said, reminiscing. 

“Tell me then Lance, what do you smell?” He raised his saucer towards him, an exuberant look in his eye, shifting in his seat and bringing a pleasant white smile to the surface. Lance bent a little lower, the steam rolling and lapping at the tip of his nose, softly inhaling the aroma of the perfect infusion, the wet leaves still lying fresh atop of the strainer “So?” Lord Shirogane not far from his own face quirked a brow, the gentle crease of his eyes appearing over the steaming beverage.

 

“I believe it is green tea, my lord, Hyson perhaps, a hint of souchong, as the leaves are slightly smokey and the colouration is far deeper, but overall you are to expect a rich, smooth and herbal taste.” Lance finished, swallowing his words and proceeded to remove the damp collection of leaves. He began to occupy himself, arranging the silverware and taking a cloth to the windowsill.

“Impressive.” Lord Shirogane, taking a long sip of his morning tea, spoke with an unexpected delight. Lance felt a bubble of pride well up from his stomach, his skin hot with embarrassment, but below that something else, verging on satisfaction from the praise.

Lady Holt sighed from where she sat, drained of energy, tasting her tea with a more ladylike exertion. The room was filled with the soft chink of sugar spoons, dragging against the bottom of teacups, swirling the pit of golden liquid and bringing a unnoticeable calm to the setting.

Upon Lord Kogane’s intrusion the serenity was extracted like feathers from a freshly butchered bird, one by one allowing the deep rooted tension return from its shallow grave, making Lance all the more uncomfortable with himself. Lance, who sensed his presence like a fingertip to a sewing pin, clutched the edge of a piano he’d forgotten was situated within the parlour and stared at him with the intensity of a besmirched child. 

“Keith, how lovely for you to finally make yourself noticeable”, Lady Holt proclaimed dryly, watching their host through amused eyes. He was well-nigh presentable excluding the unruly mess of his charcoal locks, cut just before the elegant trim of his shoulders, and his expression that was unmistakingly out of breath. Once again the omega felt himself entirely too enraptured by the dark of his eye, more so when it shifted down the length of his body to rest on the piano he had held to tightly under his grip.

“Mr.McClain,” with a serpent like sharpness he suggested “Do you play?”

 

\~*~/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, that was something. i honestly feel just as mixed emotions as lance does rn hahah  
> Onward to chapter threeeee! Hopefully Mr.Editor can keep me sane and alive yay! Remeber to leave kudos and comments below! i love critism so if yo can suggest improements im more than welcome to try it out x
> 
> see ya next week x


	3. An Incident Like No Other, In Strike of Composure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh okay well. I'm sorry this is so short! I started writing this a while ago then things just happened but I'm (hopefully) back now! this chapter is just going to be split in two with chapter four and probably remain a little shorter until i can get my skill back pahaha. I'm terrible, i know haha. if this chapter seems a little off please stick with me im just having a moment and hopefully my writing will go back to normal if not yaaay. please feel free to leave your criticisms and points of approval in the comments as i love reading advice (i wont get butthurt so you can be harsh!) enjoy!!!- Miss Writer

“I beg your pardon?”, Lance breathed, the sudden press of his superiors words heavy like a whetstone in his stomach, sharpening the sword of his unsurety. How could a man of such nature speak in arrogance, then not much later appeal to somewhat of an interest towards him. Lord Kogane, though twenty-three years of age, was undeniably a man who bares a mind close to that of a child.

“The piano.” Lord Kogane repeated his notion, Gesturing an open hand at the wooden structure, flat palm returning swiftly behind his back, leaving the attention to be redrawn to the odd peculiarity of his eyes. Lance’s mother would always tell him that the eyes were the windows to the soul, but of course, in this case his Master was nonetheless as illusory on the inside than the out. It was ten long seconds before Lance realised he was unconsciously captivated, snapping out with a Surprised intake of the shallow morning, drawing the cold air that felt harsh on his dry throat.

“Ah, yes of course- do you wish me to play for you?”, The omega swallowed, already expectant of the answer and stepping his way around the frame towards the seat, the peak of brass pedals peeking into his peripherals. 

“That is what I said.” The Lord returned with a sour turn of his head as if the smallest sign of stupidity that he had found in the man before himself was more sickening than sweet, a rude gesture of his stature amongst the room, disheartening and dis-lightening.

“I don’t see why not? It is an awfully quiet morning, isn't it?” Lady Holt, with an exhausted tone, stood to from her chair, searching to situate herself closer to the instrument, comfortably able to take in the world from behind the large glass pane that separated her from it. The appropriate and required seating of a lady, though very young, of her status.

“I agree. It will create a wonderful atmosphere, don't you think?”, Lord Shirogane approved with a agreeable tone, goading Lance to sit upon the sturdy stool, priming his hands with gentle stretches. Caught off guard, he was surprised to see the Marquess preparing himself by taking seat on what was left of the stocky flat pedestal, lifting the cover to reveal the ivory keys, left hand enclosed to the minors.

“You are to play with me?”, Lance questioned, blue eyes flying wide, muted by their sudden proximity but working to defy his nature and make do with the path of today he was to face. The gentle roll of chills down his spine were indeed be ignored.

“Of course, I prefer to play in company Mr.McClain.” His Lordship offered no complaint to the uncomfortable placement he had, but rather stirred closer until the space between them was only a hair apart, a strange closeness that brought Lances hackles to rise. 

Enchantingly, he began to play the soft tone of a delicate piece, the low keys rumbling, a quake of the earth and resonating within the soft thrums of the mahogany casing and played fluently by a single hand, his left dancing like a ballroom waltz, emitting the soft coarse of a melody in its wake. Familiarity struck Lance first, as he was unable to perceive how the itching urge of his gentle right fingers had began to move, seemingly, on their own. The strain was similar in sweetness as that of a honeysuckle bud, twining around his mind and blossoming its soothing tune against the ears of those who sought it. It filled Lance with a sense of comfort, the feeling of serenity and the flow, thick as honey, smooth and rich amongst the ambiance of lingering reverberation. 

Lord Kogane had moved to a secluded window himself, turned away from the instrument and its virtuoso’s as if the small cast of his firm, simper of a shallow smile would ruin the small partnership that lasted only in this moment. He appreciated how fond his companions were of his staff, despite the lesser of their class, often finding the hidden treasures amongst them. Yet, he was unable to find the rarity in which shrouded his new groundskeeper as he played with such valor in heart, an occurrence that only left him frustrated with the inability of finding its source. Nonetheless, he was deeply intrigued, something that had only found its way into his life once before this day. But he remained in silence. He couldn’t allow such impossibilities to arise.

That gentle morning melody, to Lance’s immediate disapproval, began to conclude, each graceful hand striking the keys with care and mixing the final blend of their heartfelt composition. Each of their bodies were mimicking the song with unconscious sways and unyielding smiles, cast to one another in times of perfect tandem, white teeth baring brightly. In this moment Lance began, as he had so longed for, to finally forget himself. Locked amongst the swallowing depths encased within the unspoken words of Lord Shirogane, Lance could feel the lure to drift towards those lips and taste the words he was dying to know.

The end was tailing their like a musical shadow, slowly approaching as time went on and the light of melody began to fade away. The final keys were placed so perfectly between them, so much as to allow the gentle press of hand to meet from their purposeful teasing, sudden soft touch sending Mr.McClain’s hand retreating sharply to his lap as if he were burnt from a candle flame. His hairs bristled, skin turning to goose flesh as he fixed his gaze harshly to his laps like daggers through skin, unable to withhold the visible lift of his lips and the furious pink- blushing his ears. Lance swiped his damp handkerchief against the heat of his neck concealing an overpowering sweet smell before it could further arise, the send striking alarm to his heart like a church bell at noon.The Lord he despised in heart turned coldly over his shoulder, a poor regard of approval, and gave no applause. But, the Lord he admired smiled despite his disclosures to touch, amplifying his feelings to somewhat of awe.

“It’s nice to meet you again Mr.McClain, I hope we will acquaint ourselves well, you can call me Shiro, if you please, I am not one for formality when a member of staff appeases me so greatly. Please play again with me sometime.” Shiro spoke in refined manner, yet to Lance in this moment sounded much like the gentle coo of a wedding dove - luxury to his ears and a softer note than the piano.

True it stands, there is no charm equal to tenderness of the heart.

“That was simply beautiful, Lance.” Lady Holt clapped in astonishment, big hazel eyes impressed, her younger face beaming with a sudden burst of excitement, “You must teach me! I've been pestering Shiro for many long months, yet my attempts have been fruitless!”.

“Thank you, my Lady.” Lance stood as quietly as he could, unwilling to disturb the new comfortability of the room. 

“Katie, we shouldn't bother Mr.McClain,” spoken with a faint, maternal care, Lord shirogane reduced the conversation to a small polite smile.. “I’m sure he has his duties elsewhere.”

Lance, caving to the desperate glow of hope among the young ladies eyes, corrected the Marquess with a gentle affirmation “I think it should be fine. I find myself entirely too un-busy at times.” 

Upon that, Lady Holt nodded furiously with appreciation, finding the time through her sudden burst of energy to inform the Lord of Durnsley of her now extended visitation, hurrying out of the parlor with her skirt held in hand before a word could be uttered against her.

There was a lingering warmth about his chest that was entirely too strong to ignore while the Marquees’ eyes watched him with a surgical finesse, dissecting the secrets of his exterior. With that strange dark gaze, potent enough to mimic the callous touch of fingertips against the stiff parchment of a map. Exploring. The perfect cartographer.

Lord Shirogane beamed fondly, his kindness like a well- deep and somewhat never ending, breathing through a sleep-ridden sigh “She is quite persistent, Mr.McClain. You didn’t have to-“

“Mr.McClain.” The warmth twisting in his chest plummeted through his body , crashing like a bird shot from the sky, latching to his stomach and bringing it along. Those words were spoken with a surety that traveled only with a malicious edge, a tone only held by those of definitive power or- a harmful intent.

“If you find yourself ‘entirely too unbusy’ in your time here I should think you weren’t adequate in your duties and whereas advise you to treat your time here with seriousness.”. His words pierced the air and left a bitterness on the tongue. The sensation left Lance hopelessly obedient despite that urge of uprising in which his heart desired to release. His Lord’s eyes were cold, the cool violet of a violent shade lying as the perfect epitome of impatience. His fuse was undeniably short and his anger ran hotter than ice on salt covered skin.

“My apologies, Sir.” Lance swallowed thickly, “It was just in figure of speech.” Lance countered quietly, unable to meet the gaze of his aggressor in fear of making the situation an entirely new level of terrifying.

“Then do not speak mockingly of your career, it is entirely unprofessional.” Lord Kogane, though the clench of his teeth remained unabated, let the grip of his words carry himself towards the younger gentlemen, letting his hand cusp the underside of his jaw and pull until he remained a frightful contact of the eyes. “Look at me when I am speaking to you.”

“My apologies, sir… I-” the smoldering look of burning coals on a lavender licked fire, were engraved into the pit of his mind, weaving it’s temptingly warm heat down the thick of his spine and luring out the Omega in which he was striven to hide, to the very point of exertion. He must remain composed.

“You are dismissed.” With a cold stone sharpness he interrupted Mr.McClain cutting him off with the knife of his eyes and replacing Lance at Shiro’s side, his companions eyes stricken with worry and a trickle of something indecipherable.

When he had finally rid himself of that terrible room his knees had found the floor, the air in his throat finally swallowing in thick lumps, the carnal instinct inside of him shaking with primitive fear and relentless weakness. Yearing. Crying out for the thing that made him sick with inability to control. That undeniable presence. 

Alpha.

*  
\~*~/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew that was something!, feel free to comment critisism and praise down below since i love to hear from you and leave kudos!!! xxx


	4. One Must Not Evade The Inevitable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay I'm kinda back into the swing of things! This one is a lot lengthier and definitely makes up for the measly chapter i gave you last time haha! I say this allllll the time but I really love criticism (As long as there is at least a little sandwiching hehe!) and i never say no to praise so feel free to comment any opinions below i love reading and responding as much as i can! hope you enjoy this chapter things get a little heated! don't forget to eave kudos and recommend this fic to others! 
> 
> \- Ms Writer x

Relentlessly evading the radiating presence of the demanding Lord of the house quickly became his most hated chore of all. Lance began to consider how his day came to be quite a grueling one, despite the current alleviation of his duties. Thoughts of that compelling melody, coaxing like a siren's call, became clouded cruelly by the sight of a fierce and powerful wolf of a gentleman, who was not far older than Lance himself, yet oozed a single-minded superiority and recalcitrant resolve. In the span of a few measly hours Lance had decided that he hated him with a new fiery passion, though he had stated this to himself many times prior to their dispositions, with a crossness that brought only displeasure.

When something often consumed the depths of his mind, Lance often found educating himself was a worthwhile escape from his worries that were often tedious and time consuming. Lost, but helpful to the peace of his excursion, the omega found himself somewhere new. As far as courtyards were known to Lance, this place was exactly as he imagined one to be. White petals and wooden gazebos gave the little garden a bridal beauty that Lance had a hidden affinity for. The atmosphere was so delicate it had to have been created by the Lady of the house, a place of such tranquil nature could not have been created by the rambunctious Lord Kogane.

In an attempt to be kept out of sight, or to avoid the feeling of intrusion upon such a quiet place, the Cuban boy sat in a shaded corner next to a stony pathway that it, and its mirroring counterpart, connected two parts of the household, concealed from suspicion. In his hand laid two small books, one a story his mother had gifted him at the age of sixteen: Brothers grimm- a delightful set of fairy tales, in which desired to read, the other a book of scrawled notes of words he didn't understand and things he couldn't write and, of course, he had a pencil.

His clothes were as tired as his expression, worn away at the edges and a little dusty upon inspection. Though his placid complexion was merely to conceal the burning ache in his jaw, that with an unceasing tightness brought the roots of his teeth to itch, reminiscing on the pale, callus thumb that had pressed so harshly into the thick of his cheek. Much to the disapproval of his ambiguous mind, he drew a silent palm in its place and soothed the wild sensation with a enervated draw of breath. Biting the subtle pout of his lower lip, Lance cleared the crashing river of his mind until it was as serene as a golden stream, half lidded eyes falling peacefully shut- a drapery of clouds to those eyes that were an extension of the sky.

He calmed by slow degrees, the tension leaving the fixed height of his shoulders and smoothing down his slender body until he felt quite at peace. Forgotten sleep had almost pulled him into a clandestine slumber if it were not for the distant approach of heel clad footsteps that snapped him away from the alluring appraisal of sleep. 

“Mr.McClain, I seem to be meeting you in the strangest of places and, if I must say so, at the strangest of times!” The familiar heartwarming voice of the wonderful Mrs Bennett dragged a genuine smile to brush against the peaks of his teeth. Her tweed lined basket rested against her plump waist, heavy with the weight of freshly picked vegetables, an assortment of parsnips and carrots, that had muddied her apron and the pretty skirt around her knees in an unmannerly way.

“Good Afternoon Mrs. Bennett, my apologies it seems you have indeed caught me at a perilous time, I fear I was almost asleep, and in the daytime for that matter.” Lance hurried to sort himself, smile lingering on his aching lips and fumbled to relieve the basket from her little hands.

“It happens to the best of us Mr.McClain- oh thank you dear! Careful now, that ruddy basket gets everything muddy,” she gave him a hearty chuckle, pinching what cheek she could reach with her thumb and finger “What a good boy you are! The others could learn a thing or two from you, my! You even put your reading to use.” She boasted about Lance as if she had given birth to him, comparing him to her various other ‘children’, who Lance considered the remaining members of young staff, who weren't quite as adequate as he. It made the apples of his cheeks ripen to a wonderful shade of pink.

“Not quite, I'm afraid I can still barely read a line” The omega tried to hold back the notes of disappointment in his tone, wincing at the little wobble that had forced its way out. He was acting like a child, one that would surely burden the lovely maid who had delightfully graced him with her maternal presence. 

“Not to worry! I'm sure Mr.Cartwright- His Lord’s valet wouldn’t mind teaching you! He taught my daughter very well, she managed to find herself work in the little bookshop in the town just after she learnt! An excellent teacher he is, might I add! Though I’m not sure where he's gotten to today...” She rushed her words as if to draw the brightness back from the shadow Lance had cast himself in on this tiring afternoon, inciting possibilities and a bountiful of hope in which she wishes so dearly for him.

“Thank you but I really wouldn't want to bother-” Lance began fumbling at his words, in loss of himself under his growing embarrassment, only to be stopped by a thwack on his back in which those little hands had brought a mighty blow, knocking the wind from him. Mrs. Bennett interrupted, her head held high and eyes stubbornly closed- “Nonsense my boy! While you are here consider yourself a member of our little family, it's not much but this is the least we can do for each other, now hurry along before all the water gets boiled out the pan, these carrots won't peel themselves!”

*

Throughout his entire afternoon Lance had managed to deduce two things about the cumbersome kitchens of the esteemed Durnsley household. Firstly, that it was surely one of his favourite rooms to be in the short time he had to acquaint himself with the place, unlike the grander and more lonely parts of the house, it was bustling by nature and often contained many members of staff who weaved thick dedicated lines through the room. Yet, and secondly, Mr. Cartwright was nowhere in sight.

He’d spent the more delightful part of his evening in a fervent and steadfast chase for the illusive man, who he later found had spent the day in the main town and had recently taken to his quarters in a rather worrisome manner. Three sharp wraps on the door and Lance found himself aligned with the man himself in all of his sweaty, pale-faced glory in which he assumed was not the normal countenance of his Lord’s valet. 

He was a tall slender man who lacked in weight where he had gained in height, sunken faced, strong jawed and willowy in appearance and nature. His eyes were glistening with an unshed wetness and his face green with ill, a symptom of his devouring afflictions rather than a sickness that often consumed such appearances.

“Yes?” he spoke quickly, swallowing his works and wiping his hands anxiously between the edges of a hemp cloth.

“I presume you are Mr. Cartwright?” Lance offered something simple to begin their conversation, sensing the distress among the face of his superior. 

“That is I, you asking for me Mr...?” He replied simply eyes shifting with what Lance assumed was the raw emotion to busy himself, to carry on with his prior business. 

“McClain, A pleasure,” he held out a hand that, for a moment waited in the cruel cold air before meeting the perspiring palm of Mr. Cartwright.

“The pleasure is mine, now if you would excuse me-” the door began to shut with the fading reality that he may actually be able to discuss the matters of his educative desire and Lance, with a desperate haste, managed to pull from his lips “Wait-”.

Mr. Cartwright gave him a stern look, half inquisitive, half maddened with sorts akin stress. 

“I believe that you know how to read? And are in the place to teach?” Lance countered with the voice of kicked puppy, hoping at least his charming features meant the man, who was only decade older than Lance, could not deny him entry. The valet, resigned and tired yet stepping aside to gesture Lance's to access the room.

Once the door had closed securely behind them, the hinges clicking into the silence, Lance found that he had discovered the full extent of this man's anxiety. He strode around the room collecting his things in jostled heaps an threw every cloth into the gaping mouth of his trunk and hissed when it snapped shut on his fingers. 

“Are you quite alright sir?” Lance moved to touch the shoulder of his hying company, finding that he slipped away before any contact could be made. Instead it was caught by an unsteady hand, hard with unyielding grip, only to soften again upon the sight of the younger's fearful expression “Please, tell me your woes or I’ll fear you’ll pass out from the stress...”

“I'm terribly sorry young man, you are very kind-” Mr. Cartwright spoke once again with tender aptitude, but he was not finished- “but I'm afraid i'll be leaving for the Durnsley town this evening as my brother is gravely unwell. I fear he may not make it a few days longer- he’s caught the Russian Flu, a terrible disease the doctor said”

“Oh, my apologies. How selfish I've been-” Lance hung his head. His dreams drained from his body as if he had holes in the soles of his feet. Maybe they'd be similar to one that had carved a great wedge into his existence. “I’m afraid I understand you all too well, thats why is wish so dearly to read- to write letters of course, I- well my father- you see its-, but of course I won't burden-”

“Nonsense, I’ll send for the young Miss Bennett, she’s been waiting for an excuse to close that little shop she works at for a weekend, furthermore I’m sure she’ll be delighted to see her mother after such a time. After my visit I'm sure I can teach you where she has not, but until then I can only hope that shall suffice?”.

“It very much does, thank you Mr. Cartwright” Lance encased the larger mans hand in his own in a friendly manner as if he were a wife, soothing her husbands work ridden brow with a gentle delicacy. 

“A pleasure Mr. McClain.” With their proximity a little closer than he would have found comfort in, Lance drew his steadied words into his tentative ears, feeling at a loss unable to tend to the man's worries but nonetheless proud he was able to lend his attention, no matter how short it was. Secretly, he would wish the same for himself. The valet pressed his lips to his knuckles in gratitude.

The door room had jostled open with a thunderous pound against the wall, followed quickly by the lighting of shock that struck his nerves with fiery electricity that left a sulfuric scent in the air, all in which formed by a presence that was unfortunately laid out of his peripheral but instead felt by the flick of his hackles and the cold chill against his brow.

“Henry!, Good God, What in heaven's name-!” The stentorian voice of the intrusive Lord split through the dim bright of the room that had become stock-still, dividing the air like a splitting stick and carrying a voice a tone to something shocked- something furious and illusive as to why.

“My Lord! This isn't-” Cartwright pulled his hand that had mulled in the sweetness of the omega’s gesture in an offensively brisk fashion, pulling himself away and casting a cold ghost of attention upon his guest to please the furious eye of his Lord Kogane- offering the young man, he had only a moment ago regarded with care, perilous with no succor . He displayed the comportment expected of the Lord’s valet and continued to pay heed to his proprietors watchful glare. 

“Never mind that, I haven't the time to discuss where your preferences lie.” His Lord exuded a prickly tension that brought shame to the man who wished to explain himself, embarrassed and pale-faced once again, tongue-tied, discomposed and left to only chagrined for the rest of his existence. Lance, a pinkish flush in his own cheek, could finally see- Lord Kogane was a bitter bitter man. He could draw unkindness from the best of men. “You requested leave on a rather disconcerting matters, yet you regret to inform me it was on such short notice.”

“Illness is unpredictable M’lord, just as well as death.” A meekness was found upon hearing the truthful words of the poor man who stood beside himself with a dejection cheek and jowl with grief. 

“It is indeed an incurable malady of life, yet it’s unprofessional to seek- comfort of that sort in these times of fret, Henry.” 

Apoplectic with a fomented rage, Lance found himself speaking up over the heavy oppression that had been so discourteously placed upon him with spite that brought the Lords lips to curl with the cantankerous tang of uprising that had relished, ever in slight, with a smirk.

Mr. McClain began in an uncouth spur of speech “How presumptuous of you my Lord!, I was only asking- !” only to then be caught by the cautious Henry Cartwright who proceeded to sugarcoat his sharp words an malicious intent with a softer “-If he would have the gracious honor of taking my place as his Lord’s Valet in my absence, Sir.” 

Their raven haired company cocked a stark brow, displeased. “Is that so?”

There was again a silence about the room once more, one in which Lance wished to no further to press in fear of distressing the fickle patience of his new friend, and losing his only form of stability in this unforgiving world. It wasn't the right thing to do as much as it was the smartest of his options. 

“You are to be appointed come morning, I expect you to be in my quarters- ‘the Lords suite’ when I wake, six o’clock and no later” Keith stated to the room, unwilling to give his newest attendant the gift of his discretion. “I hope you won't wear those god awful clothes, I'm sure Mr. Cartwright will lend you some of his staff attire in the meantime.”. He continued to throw his insufferable insults with a smart indirectness, avoiding any words that could deem him improper and in anyway childish. 

“Yes M’lord.” Henry bowed his head once, jaded and exhausted.

“You are dismissed- and please arrange an appointment with Mr. Point at the tailors. I shall not and will not have any of my staff looking like they were pulled out of the ground.” He swiftly discharged himself, along with the unfortunate Mr.Cartwright, from the riled discussion where matters were left unsettled, crossing room with a wry, satisfied smile and strode out with the same Lordly airs that had sucked the life from the place, “Let’s hope you can redeem yourself, Mr. McClain.”

\~*~/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to read your opinions in the comments and please leave kudos!! xxx  
> See you in chapter 5, oooooOOoo!


	5. There Is No Pride When There Is Prejudice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SEASON 8 CAME OUT... I'm scared to even touch it without having an hour long rant. Sorry for the loooooooong break I'm an idiot and Mr.Editor knows haha, don't forget to leave a comment about what you thought and a kudos xxx

 

_ The room was sickeningly hot and the air was heavy with a growing thickness, its graying tendrils of blackish fumes forcing its way into his throat and daubing his lungs in thick viscid coat , burning in acidity, searing in his chest- it hurts, its hurts so much! The smoke. “Father, I don't like this feeling, please! make it go away!” His voice was so hoarse and so little, his sight clouded in that red sea where only the masts of ships shaped from forgotten furniture could be seen flaking away into the atmosphere with only a small pair of youthful hands, that had many years ago belonged to him. The hands of that innocent child.  _

 

_ It was all so vivid now. The effluvia of dying embers, torrid in his nostrils, sizzling away. Reorientation was a chore, losing yourself was your enemy, fascination was his bane. The swirls of orange glow engulfed the room as he curled into a ball, low and away from the yellow demonic eyes which swore to pull him away into the bed of fire.  _

 

_ But he’d almost regret it if he hadn't stared back into that irrepressible room for he would have never seen the smile that felt warm in his heart where the lick of flame couldn't reach, before he was pulled by the wrist from a door he never knew he laid against, scrabbling for purchase at that slumping figure clutching at his burning wounds, streaks of wet evaporating from his cheeks from eyes, that had long dried away.  _

 

_ Papa? _

 

_ * _

 

Awoken by a boorish shake at his shoulder, Keith surged upright; causing himself unnecessary discomfort, the breath of profanity lying hot on his tongue in its wake. Soreness wasn't uncommon to the balky muscles of his body that twinged with dogged determination, but it was no less unwelcome. He allowed once for a small groan to escape his lips, absently kneading the scruff of his neck until till the tension somewhat alleviated- like dough, molding once again to his desired softness.

 

He took a settling breath, then another, hoping a little much needed air would bring him back to the reality, which in this moment seemed peculiar, surreal. Behind the secure hood of his lidded eyes that were now glowing red- kissed passionately by the mercurial lips of morning light, a dull ache had settled itself and he chose, wisely, to keep them shut a little longer. Sweat clung to the stripped skin of his chest, a few drops tickling stripes of warmth down the curve of his spine until the cool freshness of his bedroom finally reached his heated body and cooled him down by slow degrees.

 

It was then he finally grasped the hand the curved against his collarbone, tight with unsurety and gripping dents of concern without a decent fear of bruising. Within that touch he found the ground that had been falling from under his feet, feeling without disclosure, content.

 

“Must you wake me in such an unpleasant way, boy? I was having a dream.” He greeted his valet with a prickly stare, watching the slender fingertips soften their hold and slide achingly sweet against his skin before leaving in hurried retrieval. 

 

“It seemed rather nightmarish,” Mr.McClain mused softy, absently assembling a cooling beverage, and carrying himself quietly across the room, the bluish hues of the country dawn settling against a tan complexion. “I arrived in your room only moments ago to see you tossing and turning, drenched to the bone, I feared you had caught a fever and were lying not only in a pool but in your deathbed.”

 

Keith scoffed, swiping the plush cover of his cloud white sheet and pulling it to his head to once again nestle into the pit of his pillows. “Your undue imagination is excessive.”  

 

“It is hardly so- here, drink.” The foreign boy pushed a drink in his direction sheepishly, a shallow cup of fine porcelain containing a fresh splash of cold honey-dark liquid, the slowness of his actions enough to arouse a suspicious pause in the air. “I haven't poisoned it M’lord, it's just some tea.”. A little scoff could be heard by those with pointed ears, an honest retort that was hard not to think of in anything less of mirth. 

 

The sharp-wittedness of the boy, he had to admit, was plenty amusing.

 

“Thank you, Mr. McClain.” Wide awake he sat up once again, in a more orderly fashion than a time before, taking the fresh cup from those supple hands curiously, balancing the dainty saucer by resting a hand of his own against the cusp of the swarthy softness of another. “Run me a bath, I'm sticking to myself.”

 

That gentility slinked away once again from his grasp as his valet removed himself from his bedside with a curt nod, the sound of a drawing bath to be followed closely after, leaving the young lord to ponder when mornings made him so keen for skinship. Sipping warily at the bitter sweetness of his beverage, one he hoped would enliven him from the drag of his sleep that had been quite dissatisfying. Keith began to sort the events of the dream in his head, the parts that he of course had yet to forget. 

 

After a while he’d let them slip away, the memories mixing with the tranquil prospect of a hot running bath. Tossing the warm linen cover, he pulled himself to step on unsteady feet, catching a glimpse of the unkempt sight of himself where his hair clung to his cheek, and when not, cast in an array of directions. He kissed his teeth.

 

The bath looked wonderful. His sore body yearned for the soothing watery charm and, by the smell that resonated within the pit of his Alpha nose, the alluring scent of fresh lavender- and odd whiff of something a little sweeter, all which teased his sense of pride.

 

“Do you fancy I smell like a woman?” He gritted the irritation from his words, directing himself where the younger man knelt over the basin, stirring in a fresh oil that masks away that wonderful aroma of sweetness he strongly desired. Honeysuckle, perhaps? A fragrance he didn't recognize, and more or less he may never know.

 

“There is nothing wrong with a little femininity, M’Lord- if it is where your health is concerned. Lavender relaxes the muscles, it will do you great good.” The man’s skin was glistening with a light sheen of vapor, but he spoke in a comfortable manner, unbothered by the growing heat.

 

“You sound much like someone I know,” Keith scoffed lightly, watching Mr. McClain’s quizzical look as he thought of his companion: the Marquees of Staffordshire- Shiro, who often occupied his mind in ruminations. He smiled, ever so slightly.

 

A small, struggling cough was emitted with little echoes in the small tiled room. “Your bath is drawn, I’ll fetch some breakfast while you soak, please excuse me, I’ll be back shortly.” With a strange departure, his valet left his side in a hurried fashion, in which left Keith the very difficult task to deter his reluctance to enter the bath in a fit of pique.

 

Mulling away in the troubles of his waking, Keith soaked away his sorrows in the early dark.

  
  


*

 

Strangely enough, his valet- who he presumed to be rather incompetent, did seem wise enough to discern the basics of herbal remedy. His back felt equally more pliable as it was warm and persuaded from its rigidity ways, and for once he felt an inkling of hope in his decision to hire the man.

 

“Do you need help with your back?” A familiar gentle voice called from the entrance, one he knew enough to decipher without turning to grace the new presence, instead biting the flesh of his cheek to reel in a smile that threatened to break the stubborn purse of his lips. He lifted a soaked sponge from the soapy pearl-white water, offering it out with an air of nonchalance, which was more an act of teasing; to goad that low voice closer.

 

Those enviable eyelashes closed gently into their settled crest, the sponges rough texture sliding from his grasp to work smooth circles on the blades of his back.

 

“Lavender?” The words, breathing close to the shell of his ear, so close he could feel the warm air, sent little unnoticeable shivers in its path down his nape. “If you would like to know- along with treating insomnia, pain and adverse stress…” The scratchy drag peaked the hill of his shoulder, drawing a blissful hiss from the fair skinned Lord, beginning its descent down the steam florid chest presented above the milky pool. A splayed hand graced its journey, grazing his side and catching more sensitive areas along the way, goading a flush darker than watered wine “One of its properties is that it-”

 

“-Relaxes the muscles.” Keith rounded in the water, impatient, scoffing lightly at those familiar words. “ _ Marquees _ . Do you often find it this amusing to tease me so earnestly at this hour?” 

 

Shiro braced himself against the sleek copper sides of the tub, one hand skimming the water like an English swan and leaving crescent ripples in the murky wetness. “Who’s that new valet of yours Mr. Kogane. He walked so calmly for a man who appeared so hot and bothered.”

 

“How very observant,” Keith said dryly, unimpressed, a sulky brood flourishing over his companions recoursed attention.”I wouldn’t be surprised, I saw him yesterday evening fawning over Mr.Cartwright who was in a deep state of lament.” 

 

“I was acquainted with his situation late last night, I see he is in a predicament of some sort,” Shiro hummed, allowing the daintier prod of waterlogged fingertips to spread warm stripes against his jaw.

 

“Yes, to gainsay his coping methods would be intruding, yet- one should not seek such methods of confidery when one can blab away the misfortunes to achieve a clear head.” Keith explained in a haughty manner, continuing with an air of experticity- despite his greater lack of knowledge “One cannot allow himself to revert to his carnal natures.”

 

“I doubt the boy is that libidinous, he is young not a beast.” Shiro raised a brow at the crude nature of his lover’s speech, watching his own words carve crinkles into that upturned nose- hypocritical in mind to his own lines of the same ilk and the small fact that he and this man were of similar age.

 

Durnsley’s inflexible Lord, who had almost always stayed true and strict to his word, found himself reverting his prejudice upon staring into the smoke grey sheen of his Marquees eyes, that when searched, was riddled with a mild disappointment, dearth of amusement with an  unbearable inkling of sadness.

 

“...Merely flirtatious” Keith corrected, feeling the familiar feeling of guilt squeezing the latter of his gut, he never enjoyed being chastised by the Marquees in such ways to evoke a change of mind. “I suppose as he is my valet… I will be nice.”

 

“Takashi!” Keith jumped as Shiro, teeth bared in their sharp-fanged glory, delved into the barrier of the bath to wrap his arms around his violet eyed counterpart with a strength that put any other alpha to shame, earning a surprised squawk; “I suggest you keep those hands of yours to yourself before my valet that you care so dearly for catches you in the act.” 

 

In spite of his passionate inclinations, the Marquees withdrew his hold, pressing the feathered softness of a bath towel to his skin to soak the water that dappled his forearms where they spread bare, unsheathed from his shirt. “Enough said, that boy is a rare beauty don’t you agree? I’m sure with those artisan hands of yours he would make a lovely picture.” His words left the Lord aghast, stunned in his expression and curious in mind, much to his distaste.

 

“Till later,” The Marquees spoke in sultry patterns, the rough of his voice rumbling so pleasantly Keith thought it could stir the silent bath water to life, rippling with those vociferous textures. Then, in a mischievous haste, left the room before he could reciprocate a word.

 

It took Keith a few moments to acknowledge that the man had the audacity, with all his cheek, to steal his only bathrobe.

 

*

 

Equipped with his attire for his morning ride, complete with his polished buckled boots and the familiar press of his leather gloves in which a riding crop was rested, Keith felt entirely at ease in the cloth of his gear and was enthusiastic with his urge to gallop until noon- where he hoped his guests, and the young ladies that often graced the drawing room, would join him for tea before the young mistresses would be back on their way to Barkley manor, situated only a few hours from Durnsley house but was in need of an early departure to reach before dark.

 

Though Lady Holt who lived further into the North, would stay till the end of the week and would leave come Sunday morn, she often spoke excitedly about her oncoming visit with the Duchess of Canterbury, who was famous for her quip and more so by her unmarried status. She was a wonderful friend in which the Lord gladly took no interest in by marital degrees, but she was a rather intimidating Alpha and fiercely stubborn in a way that even Shiro could not amend. They did not call her home ‘The Castle of Lions’ in humor, but in truth.

 

“My Lord, Mr Everett has readied your steed, please allow me to fetch your coat, the air has a chill his morning.” Mr.McClain, now more situated with himself, disappeared into his open closet in search of a thicker coat.

 

The more he had pondered on his companions words the more the rare sight of his valet’s profile grew in a strange appeal. The boy barely looked him in the eye, nor stayed  in one place long enough for Keith to examine him, yet still, those cerulean eyes and that soft tan that always stained his blemish-less skin, like a milkmaid’s- was undeniably effeminate for a man but no less beautiful. It took a lot to suppress the urge to grab his parchment and charcoal and engrave the man into its material and seal his youth into that faded tea tone. 

 

“Ah, this should do. Is this one to your liking M’Lord?” Mr.McClain, gaze pressed hard into his apparel in search of holes and loose stitching, once again remained out of sight though stood in it so plain. 

 

A thought came to mind as the course fabrics of his coat stroked the width of his shoulders “Tell me, Lance, where are you from?” 

 

“A small portside town, a long train journey away from here, but if its my heritage you wish to know my father and mother are from the Latin Americas, Cuba. though I was too young to remember what it had looked like, my father told me stories of white sands and endless summers.” His valet brushed tenderly at the creases of his overcoat, a small smile of satisfaction on his mouth.

 

“How exotic.” The Lord spoke with intrigue yet withdrew his inkling of desire to ask further, “You must be delighted to have such a beautiful heritage.”

 

“It is burdensome.” His valet concluded in a way that demanded no further prodding. The light of the untimely hours downcast through the subtle sweep of his valets nightshirt in a way that outlined his rather delicate silhouette, that curved in a way to only evoke the fondest of images. 

 

“You are not dressed?” Those were the only words that he could mutter through the tight press of his water warmed lips, half in offence and half birthed from marveling in such a strange phenomenon.

 

“My apologies M’Lord, I had been having trouble sleeping and decided to take some medication and ended sleeping far longer than I had intended. I ask of you to forgive me, I will arrive in more appropriate attire come next morn.” Mr.McClain cast his eyes once again to the floor, a new desire to once again grip the man's jaw and draw those reluctant eyes back to his own that were starved of their presence and demanding to see the hidden rarity's concealed by shame. His fingers breathed the sensation. 

 

“You are dismissed. Dress yourself and continue with your duties today. I will let this slip this once without consequences Mr.McClain. Don't disappoint me further if you wish to remain here at Durnsley house.” His words came undeniably softer than he had intended, with a lack of authoritative drive. They were warmed by the sight of his valet’s shadow and came out in a collected yet heated flurry of words

 

Keith, embarrassed in his tempered discourse, offered a curt nod that was only returned by a hesitant bow and an achingly quick departure. The air was left thorny and stiff as it settled from the prickling tensions of such ill-timed conversation. The Lord had then realised how he had become so infatuated by the man, who entranced men like a witch without the appearance of a willowed wench, but disguised as a creature of the heavens. His valet was certainly an object for the curious. 

 

\~*~/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to comment i love criticism as much as i love praise! don't forget to kudos! thanks for reading i have no idea when ill update again but hopefully soon since i have free time over christmas! - Miss Writer


	6. And I, The King of England

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LMAo, AHHHHH IM SO SORRY EVERYONE WHO WAS WAITING!!! I never got round to finishing the chapter until now! thank you for everyone who commented while I was attempting to not implode on myself haha, it really got me motivated. Me and Mr. E got into a debate whether the word pash- which originally has a very romantic definition should have been used in this chapter (Which i thought was a very cute word but its apparently also a medical term for PASH which is like and illness or something) i ended up using is anyway but let me know what you think! 
> 
> Don't forget to leave kudos and comment any criticism or love you want to give, i always reply aha!

“You must be the young Miss Bennett?” Lance took hand of a young woman who had arrived in a coach that had taken a stop just outside of the servants entrance, her skirt muddied in a way that resembled her mothers and beaming a rather slim cheeked smile that contrasted so vastly. 

“Oh yes! You must be the new groundskeeper Henry was talking about! I don't know how you expect to read all of those house records and manage all of those keys barely being able to read, you wouldn't know the wild carrots from the potted hemlock! All sorts of niggly things have grown here over the years- but I'm here to change that at once!” She swept her mass of curled hair into a loose bun and sandwiched her pretty white hat back upon her head as a shield from the glowing sun and without her previous affable scolding, began again, “Mind taking my belongings sweetie? It's such a lovely day but it makes the riding carriage so stuffy, I'm sticking to myself! I must say hello to my mother before we get to work.”

Without a moment's thought Lance made his way to the open compartment and pulled out a single bag that felt as if it held the souls of the dead, humorously so. He began to wonder what an eccentric woman like her would carry on such short travels that should weigh her luggage down harder than any thick winter garb.

“Books, Mr.McClain” She chortled at the unlain words that fronted plain on his face “Plenty of books.”

“Oh! Cecilia, what on earth!” True in her nature, Mrs Bennett immediately coddled and fussed over her daughter, dusting her gown with kitchen calloused palms. “I didn't know you were visiting, you should have told me, sent a letter at least!”

“Hello Mother, how are you?” Miss Bennett clasped her mother's hands to end her faffing flurry, beginning with excitement and telling her the meaning of her strange arrival.

“I see!” Mrs Bennett spoke as she took no time in sweeping the bag, with which Lance had struggled so greatly with, from his grasp, despite his press of decline, an almost effortless action that brought the colour of embarrassment to his cheeks. “You are in good hands Mr.McClain! I’ll take her things from here! You hurry along now you two before the big bad brooding Lord catches you!”

Cecilia sported a hearty laugh of the same ilk as her mother’s, a wonderful sight to see such a  family reunited for the course of today and a lengthy tomorrow. The sun had already risen by the humble time in which he had accustomed himself nicely with the fresh spring air and Lance was beginning to finally settle his mind from the rather  _ revealing _ turn of events from that morning.

If the status of his secondary gender had yet still led undiscovered he were to think of himself a master of evading the trickiest of sleuths- the alpha nose. The steam of the running bath was one to extract the deepest of omega odors from his pores. He hoped he had not left in such a haste to arouse suspicion upon his part. Now that would be tricky.

“Thank you Mr.McClain! It's so bright and warm, should we find a shaded place in the gardens to sit?” Cecilia patted the bright flush of her merry little face and marched to grab his arm without a moment's thought “Walk with me, Mr. McClain. We have much to learn my little subject!”

*

 

It had been only thirty minutes into their lesson and Lance already felt the tell-tale sign of enthusiasm bubbling away like a little pot in the fired stove of his stomach, lighting him up with the kind of fizzing hope that got even the most frivolous of beggars through the grueling tasks of the day. It was the kind that made him truly beam with determination, and with the convivial company of the more than delightful Cecilia Bennett he found himself loosening up enough to let a few steady laughs slip from his composure. This was definitely far more enigmatic for him than it would have been if he were a child, significantly so, he could feel the prospects of a long journey ahead but he’d be damned if he would let such an onslaught slander his chances of a long awaited success.

From the time they had begun their studies, jovial conversation had been thrown into their brief attempts to make themselves more comfortable with one another. The young lady made made it quite clear she had no intention of giving him rest until the more solemn presence of Mr Henry Cartwright was hauled back into the house by force of duty, and of course, a salary that would not work for itself.

Frustrating an endeavor to say the least, he was halfway through one of the smaller fairy tales that he finally had enough skill to read cleverly to himself and the young misses sat gracefully to his side, (with mistake but no such deterrence) they were stilled abruptly into silence from the dove like twittering of distant chatter, a flock of girls dressed in pretty whites, pale pinks and soft blues emerged from the glass conservatory running after one another each with their own disposition. Amongst the group, no more than six, Lance had recognised that familiar distracting beauties, gold haired and bright eyed, that had earlier disrupted his conversations with the red-faced Mr. Zeller in which he enjoyed prying secrets from with sparkling eyes.

It had been a startling surprise when Cecilia brought her fan closer to her face than necessary and started fanning herself with a new burst of dogged determination, fueled by impatience, that would have only brought discomfort in the already strikingly frost ridden breeze. It was a reminder to Lance in a strangely truthful metaphor, that though the sun may be lustrously bright there was always a chill about to pull him away from indulging in such kinder weathers- despite the warmth is may be aching to provide. He wasn't entirely sure what it meant himself but it preened him back into his more guarded state, in which he knew was for the better to escape the worst.

“Who knew ladies could be so loud, this whole distance and yet I can still hear their squabbling. How maddening.” Miss Bennett had firmly planted herself like a root into the soft grass and toppled slightly to fall amongst the green with an exasperated sigh, as if it were all rather tiresome. “I can already hear the fussy demands to brush their pretty little locks and preen their gentle skin, oh! How they used to bully me when they visited when we were much younger. I hardly think they would have changed being mollycoddled by those more than willing to cosset them- the little ladies in waiting.”

It was a fear and familiarity Lance was far too accustomed to, and for once he felt an inkling of home that maybe there was someone he could confide in if things should take a darker turn. He pondered a while before addressing the sizable distaste his new acquaintance had for seemingly harmless things, “You take umbridge in their presence I see?”

“I believe I have my wits about me in places that they do not.”

From the watchful security of their shallow birch, Lance had spotted great anomalies which brought his opinion to vary. “Surely not  _ all  _ of them .” Suggestion was carried strong within the thawing tone of his voice, eyeing a particular little creature who stood, admirably, with her nose tucked in a mighty paged book.

“Ah,” Cecelia continued, trailing his line of sight like a hunting dog “If you mean the Lord’s acquaintance Lady Holt, of course, then you are entirely right. I never met her much in my youth but she is a woman of word and entirely too kind despite her clear affluence.”

Cecilia took far less disdain under the topic of Lady Katie Holt, leaving not only reverence but a look of awe that he believed had painted his own face once. “She is a rarity, Lance. There aren't many of our masters that can be as generous as her. No wonder she sticks out like gold amongst rocks when compared to those little hounds that follow duck wherever the handsome doctor goes.”

Brandishing a new humor to her ways, the young misses seemed to imitate their swooning in ridiculously exaggerated manners, but nonetheless amusing. Under the shadowed crescents of the sun, parted by a fresh mattering of leaves, Lance barked out a short stifled laugh at the glorious sight of Cecelia flapping about and batting her lashes through her words of mockery with impeccable locution. It was indeed priceless.

“ _ Oh _ ! Mr. Shirogane, how wonderful to see you!  _ My! _ How strapping you are! I should think you would want to marry me with that look,  _ Shiro. _ ” Cecelia kept her act for only moment longer before befalling to the temptation of a good laugh. “Oh! Oh! Here he comes! now, look at the way those girls sniff him out like a meaty treat! If they weren't leaving this evening I doubt I’d be able to stand all that dawdling and faffing. Comb my hair this, ‘don't be near me when he comes’ that, ‘Not that dress you imbecile- the Marquees favourite colour is  _ Lilac _ !’. I assure you once again and no more, it is absolutely  _ maddening _ .”

The Marquees of Stafford shire brought himself to the meeting which the both of them had finally become to notice was arranged. He sat with idleness in one of the delicate white garden chairs that had been fitted in the wide gardens, pulling a mallet from a box at his feet and inspected it suspiciously as if it could have been tampered with. Even with a rather rugged frown plastered to his once calm countenance, the crease long tampered with the appeal of his face. Handsome in hostility. Mr.McClain wouldn’t admit how much he relished the sight.

“Oh this I would love to see. The Marquees and the Lord are very competitive when it comes to croquet, I believe his Lord Kogane is currently in the lead though my letters from mother may not quite be up to date.” Cecelia chortled at the mere memory of the men who weren’t far without their more childish natures.

“It’s definitely a game of sportive nature” Lance hummed with agreement. Cecelia pressed a look that gave rebuttal to any word that could give it such a lighthearted appeal. It made him wonder what sort of croquet they had been playing.

“Speaking of, I wonder where he’s gotten to…” Miss Bennett pulled her fingers to her lips in question, squinting into the hills before squeaking in excitement “Ah-ha I’ve spotted him! Late, as always.”

“Who?” Lance struggled to match the impeccable sight of the hawk perched next to him. Everything was moving far to quick to be seen against the rays of uncultured sun. He started to wish he'd brought his own hat, except many of his were terribly out of fashion. A barking dog sounded in the air when Lance finally thought of the logical idea to shade his eyes with the cupping of his hands, preceded by a harsh squint.

Cecelia sported an incredulous eye roll that held a stronger mirth than offence “The Lord! Be sure your eyesight doesn’t get the better of you Mr.McClain or you’ll be thrown from this house to the gutters like a rodent via the lords impatience itself.” Following her words, the young man had only the time to brandish a cheap glare and dull hang of his jaw before it snapped back into place, the overheard plethora of screams of an excitable merrymaking and a shrill revelry from a rose cheeked maiden drawing him from his more offended manners.

“Look over there!” A girl, clad in pretty blue to match her vibrant eyes- a compliment to her darker oak locks, waved with an excited lunacy to the North of the gardens and called compliments to her fair prince riding steadfast on steed. “Send in the Cavalry!” another called, joking in delight. He ought to find the humor in their witty mirth, if it weren’t for the constriction of his throat.

And indeed, if it weren’t for the clothes of a more lordly manner Mr. McClain would’ve thought this man looked a king more than any cavalryman. He rode valiantly on horseback with such stouthearted intent it suffocated the open air with his Alpha prowess, which only seemed to scold the chilled but bare flesh of his cheeks. The burning kiss of a polar heat, straight to the bone and chilling the brow of those who can't compete- or better yet do. Attraction manifested in his unease, for Lance could admit fourth over that the Lord was a pleasant sight, that yet grew heavy in his esteemed palms with power, one of such strength it could contaminate the fairest of hands and brandish the cusp with heartache. ‘Windswept gives a healthy glow to a young face’, or so his sister would say, unto this moment he never deemed it true. Tousled dark hair was criminal, and smoldering eyes were heathenry. Lord Kogane dismounted in a way that flourished his riding skill, exuding strength control and an inkling of grace- and when his feet branded his grounds like an unclaimed horse, Mr.McClain felt useless with uncontrollable ill. He had procured the strange image that this lord was no a man but a  _ demon _ , the kind that used its beauteous face to distract its victims before devouring their very soul..

Mr. Radford with all his surly closed expression, was quick to attend duties, handing a soft ‘chief and one cooled cup of tea to soothe his exhaustions. They shared a similar look of casual disdain that one could finally realise why the lord tolerated his company over any other servant on hand. They were both rather flinty to one another in discourse.

“Fawning over the Lord as always” Cecelia tutted at the girls who flowered around him like the petals of a discoloured white rose. “I’ve overheard a lot of rumors becoming that man- and let me tell you, not all of them are all that exciting, though there are few that are are quite intriguing.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“He apparently has a fondness for men though the ladies of his parties often say he too will never refuse a woman of true beauty that follows his taste. But many  _ also _ express his fondness for men as he has yet to be seen with a woman or omega on his  _ own _ . He is rarely without a companion of a male counterpart. They say he was quite rude and intolerable in this youth, especially to girls worse than he is now. That was before he met the Marquees.”

“What changed?”

“Well, he became the Lord he is today- a mighty fine one at that, though he is still as stone-hearted and hurricane-willed as always.”  

Lance pursed his lips to hum in agreement before catching the light tilt of Cecelia's considering head, her eyes pointed to the heavens in thought. Nonchalantly she began to speak she said her thoughts with deciphering tones and forthright speech, “Well. They also say he is terribly good in bed, though very few have accounted for that matter. Apparently he is as well-versed in intimate skills as it all could be an elaborate lie! I couldn't see him as a man with a taste for debauchery. Though then again… oh my never mind!”

In a rather undignified way, coughs of forced surprise spluttered from his lungs to the point where he began to worry upon the prospects of choking to death! For a moment he appealed to the matter that he may have been busy dying _ too loudly _ as he faced a pair of gunmetal eyes that were drawn to the cacophonous sounds of his sudden attempt to cross the Styx, like the true doctor he was. Mr. McClain would have been impressed if he hadn't caught that small quirk in his brow, the gentle sweep of a hand through his locks, that caught him off guard.

“Mr.McClain! You’re terrible shade of red, are you ill?”

“M’fine,” He raised a hand to silence her worries.

“Should I call the doctor?” Cecilia was a witty woman, but he was glad she had yet to learn him in ways that would never allow such an oblivious nature to become her. Understandably the last thing he wanted to solve this could be the cause of his  _ situation _ . His Grandmother had always told him he had a big heart, but he couldn't possibly indulge in fawning over two men and not put his ancestors to shame!

“No!-  ah, no that’s quite alright.” He quieted slightly, “Thank you.”

“Are you sure?” She rubbed the clothed vertebrae of his back with soothing circles, delightfully unaware that his problems now lay elsewhere. Lance fumbled at the familiar dewy freshness of his most inconspicuous scent blocker that had dampened the cloth of his mother's favourite muckender and dabbed his neck politely.

“The weather is to temperamental for my tastes,” he lied “I will be right as rain in a short moment”

Cecelia huffed the air from her lugs, remaining dainty but unconvinced. “Well, not to matter, I’m afraid the Marquees is coming this way.”

*

 

“You are late for a man who keeps point on the tardiness of others,” Shiro slipped the expensive silver of his pocket-watch back into the place the name suggested it belonged, sporting an exasperated sigh that could blow away his bore.

“Quiet you.” Keith replied to The Marquees with a playful glare, which to others who didn't know how the man expressed his fondness like the Doctor did, would have looked far more frightening. “I am no more than  _ five  _ minutes tardy, oh! Whatever will you do without me”

“Admire the view.” He sipped away at the cold brew in his hands “As you have taken to becoming apart of the sky so high on your high horse elsewhere, I've decided to take shine to our favorite new swain.”

“ ' _ Our’? _ You are mistaken, Marquees, don't you mean ‘ _ your _ ’. Who exactly have you have a pash on at such a useless time?” Keith offered him a look that entirely suggested both ‘other than’ and ‘without  _ me _ ’.

Shiro smiled to himself over his quick tempered companion and turned back to gazing away and let his eyes do all the talking. When his grays had settled from his puffed out partner to the young Mr. McClain that had caught his attention, he gave ear to the small sour scoff of the bitter tongued lord at his side.  As loudly as one could express their hauteur, Shiro caught wind of the gentle cluttering  _ chink _ of reins, and the soft ‘ _ oof _ ’ of the stable boy who had only came to collect the young Lords favoured horse and in doing so had earned a thump on the chest by a riding gloved hand in an ungraceful transfer of said steed.

After the know about response of a grumbled ‘Thank you M’lord’ and the patter of stable boots suited with rhythmic pace of a plodding stallion, Shiro thought he may have the time to relax in the stiff garden seating before their next game began. He was, of course, mistaken.

With eyes half filled with blithe mirth, half deeply tentative, the two noblemen watched the peculiar buffooneries of Mr. Lance McClain and his loud insistence to cease before their watch with such ghastly sounds it could make the dead themselves turn in their graves if he should not join them. With a resounding thump, his new found acquaintance began to forcefully bludgeon his back until the fit ceased to little stilted puffs and his face had grown red from his lack of breathe, and at the same time looked peaky. The men joined looks in a mixture of pure joy and thin-lipped displeasure.

“I rather like him.”

Keith scorned his words, the skyward roll of his eyes stricken with disbelief  “What?  _ That? _ Ah yes, what  _ grace _ he exudes. Honestly Shiro, and I began to wonder what you saw in  _ me _ . Tell me again are you really this silly or do you do it to amuse me?”

“The latter.”

 An odd match of staring occurred in which Shiro knew not what had begun, nor why, but he decided that this was a strange display for Lord Kogane to attempt to assert his dominance not as a man but as a partner- and, he of course knew it was a fight he would most likely win, yet it was child's play and he refused to yield for satisfaction. Instead he broke their contest by standing to his feet and baring the side of his inner soldier and, quite so, marched dutifully forward and chose to let his degree take the better of him. He did not study the art of medicine and follow Hippocratic oath to fail the lovely Mr.McClain upon to stubbornness of his companion. 

“Where are you going, Takashi?” Keith whispered with stern, harsh and seething words. “I thought you were going to play games with me- why are you laughing? What's so funny? Stop whatever you are thinking this instant! May I remind you I am merely curious not jealous as you seem to insist! I assure you it is quite opposing!”

He felt Keith stop short on foot with his unconscious following to join the unattended ladies, fueled by an amusing rage. Believing it was entirely appropriate and exhilaratingly dangerous, he called after his dis-tempered Lord.

“And I am the king of England!”

\~*~/

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dont forget to comment praise or criticism! I am at the ready to reply! thanks for reading again see you next chapter! (leave a kudos, I know you want toooooo~)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Don't forget to leave a kudos, next Chapter coming soon, stay tuned! x
> 
> (@sunsroom will be referred to as Mr. Editor, and @rumdust will be Ms. Writer to avoid confusion and to aid in maintaining privacy. Mr E and Ms W will probably also end up being used.)


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